The heavy blast doors of the Genesis Crystal Chamber groaned shut, sealing the humming reactor and its jungle of silver ferns away from the world. Everyone made their way back outside to the Academy grounds.

  As soon as they were back to the academy grounds, Headmaster Andrade stopped, she stood rigid, her spine a rod of iron. Her face was a mask of polite administrative composure, though her skin was pale as parchment.

  She turned to Master Elias and the other Masters who had gathered.

  “The inspection is concluded,”

  Andrade said, her voice steady but brittle.

  “Return to your posts. Do not speak of this to anyone. I will address the faculty at a later time.”

  Elias nodded grimly. He looked like he wanted to ask a dozen questions, but the look in Andrade’s eyes silenced him. The Masters bowed and dispersed, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.

  Andrade did not look at them. She looked at Ray.

  “Novice Croft,”

  she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried three feet.

  “Please come with me to my office. Immediately.”

  She turned and walked away. She walked briskly, with purpose, nodding to passing students, maintaining the facade of the untouchable Headmaster. Ray followed a respectful three paces behind.

  They reached the Administration Spire, they met with Captain Svane who has been waiting for their arrival, and he joined them immediately. They ascended the stairs. They walked past the secretaries.

  Andrade opened the door to her office, she nodded to Svane which he understood, he proceeded to guard the door with practiced proficiency, she ushered Ray inside, and slammed it shut.

  She immediately slapped her hand against the warding panel on the wall, activating the Privacy Ward and Sound Dampening ward.

  Only then did the strings cut.

  Andrade stumbled forward, clutching the edge of her heavy mahogany desk to keep from falling. Her legs gave out, and she sank into her high-backed chair, letting out a ragged, shuddering breath that sounded like a sob.

  Ray stood by the door, watching her. Inside his mind, his internal committee came to life assessing the situation.

  Veteran: “Adrenaline dump. Classic combat fatigue. She held the line while the enemy was watching, I’ll give her that. But the structural integrity is gone. She’s combat ineffective until she stabilizes.”

  Courtier: “It’s not just fatigue; it’s realization. She knows how close the blade came to her neck. Landa didn't just fine the school; he demonstrated that he owns her. He played with her in front of her subordinates, and she had to thank him for it. That kind of humiliation lingers.”

  Conman: “The performance is over, and she knows she flubbed her lines. She feels her performance was weak, and she knows Landa smelled it. If we don't stabilize her, she’s going to fold before the appetizer. We need to be the anchor.”

  Ray moved.

  Andrade reached for the crystal decanter of brandy on her desk. Her hand shook so violently that the glass chattered against the rim of the tumbler. She couldn't pour it.

  “He knows,”

  she whispered, staring at the spilled drops of amber liquid on her blotter.

  “He knows, Croft. I saw it in his eyes when he looked at the railing. He didn't buy the Ashvane story.”

  Ray walked past her. He took the decanter from her shaking hand, his own movements steady and precise. He poured a generous measure into the glass and placed it in her hand.

  “If he didn't buy it, Headmaster, we would be in irons right now,”

  Ray said gently.

  “Zenus Landa is not a man who hesitates. If he thought we were traitors, He would have ordered his Inquisitor Vanguards to put us in chains and drag us through the Nexus Gateway going to the capital already.”

  Andrade took a gulp of the brandy, coughing as it burned her throat. The color began to return to her cheeks.

  “Then why?”

  she rasped.

  “Why the dinner? Why does he want to eat with us if he knows we’re lying?”

  “Because he is intrigued,”

  Ray said, leaning against the edge of her desk, arms crossed.

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  “He didn't arrest us. He invited us. That means he sees a puzzle he hasn't solved yet. He wants to know why we lied, and more importantly, how we pulled it off.”

  He looked her in the eye.

  “This isn't over Headmaster. The dinner is a second inspection. The Genesis Crystal chamber is the initial test; tonight is the main test. He wants to see if we crack under social pressure.”

  Andrade closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow,

  You are a 6th Circle Master Mage! you are the headmaster!. Control yourself!

  She thought.

  “A social test,”

  she muttered, opening her eyes. The steel was coming back into her gaze.

  “Fine. I can play the gracious host.”

  “Good,”

  Ray said.

  “Because tonight, we are not suspects. We are entertainment. And we need to put on a hell of a show.”

  Two hours later, Ray sat before the vanity mirror in his suite.

  The room was silent, but inside his mind, a war council was in session.

  Courtier: “Landa is a cunning predator. He uses politeness as a disarming tactic. Did you see how he touched the Headmaster? How he invaded her personal space with that handshake? He asserts dominance through faux-intimacy. He will seat himself at the head of the table tonight. He will control the pour of the wine. He will make us wait.”

  Scholar: “He is bored. That is his weakness. He fined the academy because it was procedurally correct, but he invited us because the ‘Ashvane Framework’ theory amused him. He sees a glimmer of chaotic genius in the ‘garden’ and he wants to know who planted it. We must be interesting, but not dangerous. We must be a riddle he enjoys solving.”

  Grizzled Veteran: “Don't let him smell fear. If you shake, he bites. But if you stand too tall, he sees a threat and puts you down. You gotta walk the line, kid.”

  The Charismatic Conman stepped forward, smoothing the lapels of his phantom suit.

  Conman: “We cannot out-class him. He is a High Inquisitor; he eats kings for breakfast. If we try to act suave, if we try to match his wit, he will crush us. He will see the artifice.”

  Ray looked at his reflection.

  Ray: “So what’s the play?”

  Conman: “We play the ‘Eager Prodigy.’ Rough around the edges. Brilliant but socially awkward. A diamond in the rough. He needs to pity us before he respects us. If he thinks you are a brilliant street rat who doesn't know which fork to use, he won’t suspect you are a mastermind running a secret cultivation facility.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Rina answered it. A servant in the Headmaster’s emblem stood there, holding a garment bag.

  “Compliments of Headmaster Andrade,”

  the servant said, bowing stiffly.

  “For the dinner.”

  Rina accepted the bag with a polite nod. As the servant retreated down the hallway, she closed the door and a sudden realization crossed her face. She bought the bag to Ray but before she handed the bag she gave something else to Ray.

  “Oh! Young Master, before you look at this...”

  Rina balanced the garment bag on one arm and reached into her apron pocket. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment sealed with a simple, nondescript wax stamp.

  “I am so sorry,”

  Rina said, bowing her head apologetically.

  “This arrived two days ago. It is from Lady Kaelen, this totally slipped my mind. Apologies for the delay in giving this to you.”

  Rina said while doing a deep bow.

  Ray took the letter.

  “Kaelen?”

  He broke the seal. The handwriting was sharp and angular, written with a quick hand.

  Ray,

  I considered stopping by the Spire, but given the circumstances with the last time I visited, I didn't exactly use the door, and I realize now that might have been... presumptuous.

  I wanted to speak with you about something but I noticed the guards in the spire have doubled, and you seem to have quite busy with something important. I won't add to the chaos.

  When things settle down, if they settle down, send word. I’ll wait for an invitation this time.

  - Kaelen.

  Ray lowered the letter, a thoughtful expression on his face. He hadn't seen Kaelen since he gave her the result of the investigation into Drennan. His third understudy, Ray wondered how she has been doing all this time as he had been busy helping the headmaster survive Landa.

  She’s being cautious, that’s an improvement over breaking and entering.

  Ray thought.

  He folded the letter and placed it on his nightstand. He hopes to survive the dinner with Auditor Landa, and once everything settles down. He makes a mental note to send word to her. Ray then looked at Rina who was still bowing.

  “It’s fine, Rina,”

  Ray said.

  “Thank you for giving it to me.”

  Rina got up and smiled, relieved, then turned her attention back to the task at hand. She unzipped the garment bag. Inside was a formal dinner suit of midnight-blue silk. It was exquisite. The stitching was silver thread, the buttons were pearl, and the cut was the latest Capital fashion.

  Ray touched the fabric. It was soft as water.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Rina whispered.

  Conman: “It’s a bribe, it’s too slick. If you wear this, you look like a politician in training. You look like part of the establishment.”

  Ray took the suit and put it on. It fit perfectly, magically tailored to adjust to his frame. He looked like a young noble.

  Ray frowned at his reflection.

  “No. This is wrong.”

  He began to dismantle the perfection.

  He reached up and unbuttoned the top button of the stiff collar, leaving it slightly askew. He rolled his shoulders, hunching slightly so the jacket bunched up, making it look like he wasn't used to wearing such finery.

  He sat on the bed and took off the polished dress shoes. He grabbed a piece of sandpaper from his toolbox and gently scuffed the pristine shine on the toes, making them look well-worn.

  “Young master?”

  Rina asked, watching him with confusion.

  “What are you doing? You’re ruining it.”

  “I’m fixing it,”

  Ray muttered.

  He stood up. He didn't look like a smooth, confident politician anymore. He looked like a boy wearing his father’s suit, uncomfortable, slightly scruffy, and out of his depth.

  “Don't look like a Master,”

  Ray recited.

  “Look like a boy who doesn't belong at the high table.”

  He turned to Rina.

  “How do I look?”

  Rina tilted her head.

  “You look… stiff. Like you’re trying too hard.”

  Ray smiled, a nervous, lopsided grin.

  “Exactly.”

  The Headmaster’s Private Dining Hall was a study in oppressive opulence. The walls were lined with portraits of dead wizards who seemed to judge every bite you took. A long mahogany table stretched down the center of the room, lit by floating candelabras that cast long, dancing shadows.

  As the Scheming Courtier predicted, Zenus Landa was sitting at the head of the table.

  He had usurped Andrade’s seat without saying a word. Headmaster Andrade sat to his right, looking diminished but resolute. To the left sits Master Elias, his eyes bright and alert. Next to him is Master Malin, her posture relaxed but ready, like a coiled spring.

  Ray entered the room.

  He pauses at the threshold. He catches Malin’s eye. She gives him a microscopic nod, a signal:

  We are with you.

  He executed a bow that was a beat too deep, a little clumsy.

  “Auditor Landa,”

  Ray said, his voice pitching slightly high.

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  Landa smiled. He was cutting a piece of rare roast beef with surgical precision.

  “Mr. Croft. Please, sit.”